


You Promised

by Keagan_Ashleigh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Character Death, Extreme angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mentioned Mycroft Holmes, corpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:09:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keagan_Ashleigh/pseuds/Keagan_Ashleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I do not want the peace which passeth understanding,<br/>I want the understanding which bringeth peace."</p><p>Helen Keller</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Promised

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet inspired by the recent setlock pics at the Miskin Manor and speculations in the fandom. 
> 
> http://keagan-ashleigh.tumblr.com/post/144919496071/thesetison-xx  
> http://keagan-ashleigh.tumblr.com/post/144979059296/the-dying-detectiveor-could-it-be-the-dying

“Sherlock? Sherlock… it’s time to leave now. It’s over.”

John said these words with a croaked voice, trying to hide his emotion. Under his hand, Sherlock’s shoulder shaking from the sobs he couldn’t repress.  
The head pressed against Mycroft cold hand, the mattress wet with his tears, Sherlock ignored John. He heard him, but he didn’t wanted to, he wanted to pretend there was still a chance.  
He couldn’t believe his brother was dead.

“Come on…” John whispered. “He’s gone, Sherlock… Please…”

When Mycroft passed away, everyone in the room left to leave Sherlock alone, it was a long while ago. John stayed near the door in case he would have need anything. The room was silent for thirty solid minutes before John could hear Sherlock break down, he heard him cry, hesitated, heard the muffled sound of a long moan, holding all the pain that took every inch of Sherlock’s soul. John closed his eyes, lips closed tight, is heart aching - as if someone had planted a thousands of needles in it. He came in to see Sherlock on his knees, his face hidden against the mattress, holding Mycroft’s hand against his cheek.  
He tried so hard the right words to say, and even when they finally came out he wasn’t sure they were.  
He waited a moment for Sherlock to answer, but Sherlock was still silent, if not for the sound of his erratic breath coming in and out sharply.

“I am sorry. So sorry.”  
“You promised.” Sherlock murmured.  
“What?” John realised quickly Sherlock wasn’t talking to him.  
“You said… This wasn’t meant to end like this, not like this. You promised.”

Suddenly Sherlock stood up and took Mycroft”s lifeless body by his shoulders, shaking him as if he was trying to wake him up, .  
“You promised!”  
Sherlock’s scream made John startle, his stomach hurting, as he was feeling Sherlock’s pain in his own heart, he understood it. He remembered it.  
He took a step forward and grabbed Sherlock’s hands, his body covering Sherlock’s back.

Sherlock resisted a while in John’s embrace, crying, and finally drown out of all his energy, he let go. John’s hot breath against his neck was an appeasement, just as his hands holding his own. Closing his eyes he let himself relax, the oppression in his chest slowly receding. After a while his breath became more steady.

“I don’t want to leave him, John.” Sherlock whispered. “I had so much things to say, so much… It’s not right. It’s not fair”  
“I know.” John replied on the same tone.  
“Is it how you felt?”

Sherlock repeated his question as John wasn’t replying.

“It’s always different each time it happens. But yes.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“I already forgive you, you don’t have to apologies again.”  
“You don’t understand. I didn’t know. I am so sorry. It hurts so much.”  
“Hush… Come with me.”

John led Sherlock to the door and still holding his waist with his right arm, he took him to another room, an office, keeping the lights shut. Only a two dusty rays of sunlight piercing through thick yellowish curtains, framing the desk and a drawer on which were set a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. Almost hidden in darkness there was a piano against one wall, a fireplace against the other. The ground was covered with a red Persian rug decorated by flowers in the same colour of the curtains.

John helped Sherlock to sit on a chair near the fireplace - the window behind his back - and took two of the three glasses in which he poured alcohol, he place one in Sherlock’s hand, helping him to hold the grip on the glass. Sherlock drank half the glass in one shot before John could take the other seat.

“It tastes good.” Sherlock says before finishing the glass and pouring himself another one.  
“Are you feeling better?”  
“No.”  
“We’ll stay here for a while and then I will take you home.”  
“What home?”  
“Ours. I mean yours. Baker Street.”  
“This isn’t home anymore.”  
“Don’t worry, Mycroft made sure you wouldn’t have to worry about the rent, and I’m sure Mrs Hudson will do anything if she can keep you.”

Sherlock laughed, like he did when they were in Dartmoor. The scene looked hurtfully familiar to John.

“This is not what I mean, John. Everything… everything is different. The old life I knew, this wasn’t perfect but it was enough, it’s gone now, everyone left. There is no “home” to bring me back to anymore. It’s all gone.”  
“Wait until your mind is clear before saying this.”  
“You know I’m right. My mind is clear enough to see the world is going crazy. If only… If only I took the time to do the right thing, if I could go back to when I should have done… what was right… Mycroft would be bickering with me right now. You would have stay.”

Silence fell upon us, John felt his heart jump in his chest.

“I am here now.” He said, taking Sherlock’s hand in his own, putting his finger under Sherlock’s chin to make him hold his gaze. In the dim of the room Sherlock’s eyes looked like the night, with the light flowing through the window John’s eyes looked like a skorzilite. “I am with you, here and forever.”  
“Don’t blame if I have some trouble to trust this kind of promise.”  
His sentence scarcely finished, John knelt before him and pulled down Sherlock’s head to kiss him, pressing his lips lightly against Sherlock’s in a chaste kiss, his fingers lost in Sherlock’s soft curls behind his ear, his thumb caressing Sherlock cheekbone.  
“I will fight against God himself to keep this promise.”

Sherlock slid from his chair, falling on the ground, falling into John’s arms.  
They stood there in silence, Sherlock’s head against John’s chest, his hands clenched around the fabric of John’s shirt against his flanks, under the pans of his solemn dark blue jacket, John caressing Sherlock hair with an hand, his back with the other, until the day started to decline.


End file.
